


Let Me Hold You

by trashpocket



Series: SSSS; A Series of Wonderful, Fortunate Events [6]
Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Cuddling, Dreamscape Kissing, Fluff, I cannot handle them, Kissing, M/M, Near Death, No Beta, We Die Like Men, dreamscape, fluffy bois, gays, kill me, omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27743089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashpocket/pseuds/trashpocket
Summary: If Lalli thought he had been breathing properly, then no. He was sinking, and sinking, and sinking — drowning somewhere deeper than the blue of the sky._______________Lalli almost dies on their second expedition, and Emil tries to save him in the nick of time.
Relationships: Lalli Hotakainen & Emil Västerström, Lalli Hotakainen/Emil Västerström
Series: SSSS; A Series of Wonderful, Fortunate Events [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835107
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	Let Me Hold You

**Author's Note:**

> Hmmm, I just wanted an opposite of Lalli saving Emil plotline this time, and just switched the roles. I don't know if I want more chapters to this (because the potential to joke around with the others' reactions in the end is BIG AND GIVES ME ENERGY) but we will see. Hope all of you enjoy, muwah!!!
> 
> and also, still not beta'd. 
> 
> now, anyways, go!!!!!!
> 
> (NOTE: dialogue in full italics is Finnish, cause I sadly, cannot speak Finnish [and i am legit just referring to one phrase here])

The sky was just a sea of nothingness, dancing with stars and milky ways. Back in Keuruu, he could see the stars clearly through the gaps in between the tall trees, and through that small crack in his ceiling by the military barracks. Back in Saimaa, the stars were even brighter, flowing and glittering the way the three great rivers wove in and out of the land; could hear more clearly the mutters of the spirits, the calls of the gods. _Slept more soundly when he had them peering from up above at him, cradling him from down below on the forest floor_. 

But out here — in the Silent World, in their second expedition, he had not imagined that the sky would be so magnificent and endless. Unmatched, by the coldness of the night, and aided with the silence of the spirits, singing low and almost _mournful_ . He did not look up at the sky so much in their first expedition, filled with warring thoughts and emotions, with the added benefit of a duty thrust upon him. But then, Emil wormed his way into his life, Tuuri, thankfully, hadn’t been bitten at all, Reynir became a _bit_ tolerable after learning he called upon Onni’s aid, and Sigrun — he warmed up to, finally. Mikkel had always been safe with his cookies. 

Now, lying down on the forest floor, however — he felt a crushing pressure. Like a weight, pressing down on his chest, slowly choking him and stealing his thoughts one by one. _The weight of insignificance_. 

He had done his duty. _His job_ , and maybe he made a mistake somewhere, or maybe there was _no other_ solution at all, but he wondered what the crew was dreaming about now. Whether one of them were awake, wondering about him, staring up into the night, tossing their thoughts into the basin of the stars, and wondering if he’d catch those in his palms from the dark. 

It was peaceful to be on the forest floor, as the cold slowly slipped through his toes, his fingers; the only warm thing being his blood, _pooling, being drawn out, slipping_. Somewhere down the line, the pain dulled, and what had stopped him from slipping into unconsciousness, or worrying about the carcass of a giant a few meters away was the star filled sky. He had not bothered looking at it fully before, but now — with this crushing weight in his chest, and his limited time left — everything was different now, bathed in a new perspective. 

Funny how death made his thoughts clearer than ever before. He saw things with clarity now; no other worry contested with his musings. 

But lying there, as he stared on, one hand laid by his bleeding side, would the gods congratulate him for dying in an already dead world? Would the known world celebrate his sacrifice? Would Onni come and save him like last time? Or would he have a funeral — just like the one Sigrun said she wanted — _a Viking’s funeral_. Strange red-haired woman. Always cautious to throw herself into danger, yet happy enough to seek it out anyway. 

Mikkel had been thinking of being cremated, but he had yet to make up his mind about the matter. Reynir and Tuuri had been thinking of many ways to have a funeral, and Lalli had lost track of what they were saying. Onni, over the radio, had declared the conversation stupid, though in the end, he answered with not caring how he died at all. 

_Emil_ ...Lalli wondered what could he be dreaming about right now. Lalli had never wondered about how he himself would die — _definitely not like this, surrounded by the carnage he made of a giant, and the cold leaves of autumn, bathed in his own blood_. 

What would Emil say? What would he _do_? Would he get angry at him for not coming back like he promised to? Would he cry and fix Lalli’s mess of a hair, and brush away the leaves that stuck to his face? They still had to talk about Reynir’s mess of a hair, about the colored cube, and the different little cubes with the dots on them. About the ugly moose, the stars in the sky, their first impressions of each other, and whose favourite dessert was better. 

There was so much Lalli wanted to know. 

Did Emil only smile for him _like that_ or not? 

Was the arm that he always slung across Lalli’s shoulder mean something? 

What did it mean when Lalli liked Emil’s eyes a lot? His smile?

Would it be okay to ask Emil all these things? Hear the words from his mouth?

_Steal them with his own?_

Lalli needed to know, beyond words, appearance, touch. _He needed to taste the truth_.

His eyes slid shut, and underneath his breath, he sang.

* * *

Emil never really knew how dreamscapes worked. Because of the difficult schedule they still maintained for the second expedition, he and Lalli still rarely met in their shared space. So, obviously, something was wrong when in his dreamscape, he felt the world shift and ripple, but in a way that was so familiar. It was something he had associated with Lalli — the subtle change in his dream, where the hallways that led down in a loop suddenly grew trees, grass, forestry, and the ceilings gave way for the sky to take its place. The ground underneath him was now earth — a patchwork of rocks, grass, moss, and murky swamps. 

The haven would’ve comforted him, if it weren’t for the fact that the sky was an unsettling orange, entering the twilight of a day. No dragonflies whizzed by, and no flying fish flew towards where he stood. Emil felt a pit grow in his stomach. The very absence of life itself in a place he associated with safety made his skin crawl with unease. He felt unwelcomed. _Terrified_. 

Lalli shouldn’t be _unconscious_ at this time because he was out scouting. What exactly was happening?

“Lalli?” He called out into the small clearing, descending down towards the dock where before it, a small pond lay and glittered like a mural, reflecting an almost weary sky. He looked around, chest tightening when nobody answered. He looked up briefly into the sky once more, and saw how the edges darkened, and the stars winked into existence. He drew his brows together in concern. 

“Lal—” 

“ _Emil_ ,” Lalli breathed out as Emil swiveled around, and he paused, processing. 

The way Lalli said his name was so — so _reverent_ . A tone of voice reserved for quiet moments, especially with the way Lalli was looking at him now. Eyes focused and steady, brows in a miniscule pull of determination, gaze burning straight into his soul. _Emil almost knew then and there what it meant to be on fire_ . He felt breathless; so empty, yet _so full_ at the same time, because something rose unbidden in the air. A tension between him and Lalli. A tension which neither had addressed before, or well — _had been heel-bent to ignore than confront_. 

But to have Lalli stare him down, underneath a darkening sky in a place of dreams and an ill-placed time, disturbed him. _Something was wrong, he knew it._ So, Emil stepped towards Lalli, holding out his hands to brace Lalli’s shoulders softly as he drew near. Emil didn’t notice how Lalli’s steps were large strides, and how the gate of them may be his last. 

“What happened? Why are you —” 

They had never properly hugged before.

Side hugs have been indulged (rather shortly) and shoulders bumps were accepted, and when they covered each other’s body in defense, those weren’t _quite_ embraces. But when Lalli slipped through the cage of his arms, and wrapped those lanky arms around him — fit his head into the juncture of Emil’s neck ( _and held so close, they nearly bled into each other_ ), there was a way in which the dips and curves of their bodies aligned. The same way stars connected, or slabs of stone by the riverbeds became perfectly slotted into place. 

Emil’s heart stuttered for an indefinite moment. His arms naturally fell into place to hug Lalli back, gripping gently by the waist, in a delicate manner to ensure if he was _real_ ( _because you could never be so sure_ ). Emil, however, was still worried.

“Are you alright, Lalli? What’s wrong?” He asked him after a beat of silence, of existing — _just feeling_ , though there was obviously something wrong. And it only grew as Lalli raised his head, cupped Emil’s face, and searched for something in his eyes. Emil had no heart to look away, not when his breath was lodged in his throat. Not when too many things were happening at once. 

Lalli must’ve found something, because his shoulders relaxed, though his eyes never wavered. One thumb brushed over Emil’s cheek, and in that moment, the universe never felt so still. So many words were left unspoken — _but no_ — they were all there, in Lalli’s eyes, conveyed in a speech that at that moment, could _never_ be spoken. 

_But this was Emil, and Emil had always been the one who understood him the most._

So, Lalli leaned forward, and their lips met — and the warmth of them was so real, Emil almost believed that they were awake. He closed his eyes shut after a moment, and kissed back, right hand coming up to cup Lalli by his jaw, holding him there. _And yes, this was real_ . The kiss was chaste, but Emil’s heart was pounding as the questions evaporated from within his head. _Didn’t need to ask them, anyway._ He could understand everything that was being unsaid, with the sky descending up above them, and with the land almost quiet and void. The way Lalli lingered against his lips, held him reverently, _lingered close_ — made him feel whole — made him feel _terrified_.

And then all too soon, Lalli pulled back. He let his forehead remain against Emil’s, and though all of this filled his stomach with warmth and butterflies; took the stars from the sky; emptied the oceans and swept the earth from underneath them, Emil was terrified. 

He was terrified because he understood. 

Tears brimmed at the corner of his eyes, his other hand ascending to cup Lalli’s face fully as he shook his head. “Lalli, don’t tell me, _don’t_ —” Emil’s voice hitched, and something broke inside of him, and it _hurt_ , gods it _hurt_ . He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling, so he held Lalli close, _doing what he could_.

He knew what Lalli was trying to say. _This was a farewell_ , and the thought of this being the last time he could hold Lalli in his arms _broke_ him because this — _all of this_ — wasn’t even real. This was all in their dreams, in a forged reality, and Emil didn’t want it to be. _Refused it._ He needed Lalli in his arms — the physically _real_ Lalli. The one who still had heavily accented Swedish. The one who fetched him stones, berries, and little terrifying things. The one who called him stupid every chance he got. 

The tears were falling harder now, as Lalli only smiled, and though Lalli wasn’t tearing up, there was a conviction in his eyes that held testament to the despair he felt too. Emil almost sobbed, but he held back by biting his lip, letting the pain sting. 

Then Lalli uttered, “I just wanted you to know.”

And the hands that cupped Emil’s face buried themselves in his hair, and his vision was filled with electric blue, and a sudden jolt of images — flashing behind his eyes — and all too soon, he found himself scrambling upright from the covers of his bed. His face was wet with his tears, and when he looked towards the bunks of the others, all of them were already wide awake, urgent and armed to the teeth. 

“Emil!” Sigrun shouted, “did a ghostling get you?! Reynir didn’t sense a thing, but you —” 

Emil shot out of the bed, scrambling for his uniform as the others jumped away from him. As he practically forced his uniform on — faster than any other soldier Sigrun has come across — Emil said, “It’s Lalli! He’s hurt!” 

Any other day, everyone would’ve made Emil sit down for a moment, ask him to _think_. They would’ve questioned the validity of his statement, and maybe taken off a bit of his urgency, but one look into Emil’s eyes. All it took was one look to understand that what he had seen — all of it — was what he truly saw, and it could not be questioned. This was not a desperation, born from a nightmare.

Lucky for them, the sun rose just as Emil shot out of the tank. 

_He knew where to go_. 

* * *

  
  


The sun rose along his large steps, chasing each footprint he made on the ground. He didn’t care whether the others tagged along with him or not, but all that he knew was that he needed to be _fast_ , because Lalli had little time left. He _knew_ where to go, and Emil didn’t want to squander the images away by lingering any longer, increasing the chance of forgetting everything.

He ran fast — faster than he ever had in his life. The world was insignificant and almost non-existent, as he sprinted through familiar roads, sequestering off into the forest, where signs of a battle littered the area. He jumped over trees, boulders, stepped over roots, and if he tripped more than once, nobody said anything. Shame no longer existed in his desperation. He could fall over many times for Lalli, and never — _not even once_ — would he be humiliated. 

And then he saw it, from a distance away, the carcass of a giant. Emil sped faster than before, unheeding of Sigrun’s shouts right behind him. As the distance became smaller, and the world narrowed down to that _one single spot_ in the grass and the dried leaves, to that small pool of blood where a body lay, Emil heard it. The unmistakable Finnish, singing a tune Emil had not heard him sung. It was undeniable. 

Hope bloomed in his chest, because _gods yes — fuck yes, he was alive_. 

All the distance he ran seemed like nothing now, as he fell to his knees by Lalli’s side. He looked to be okay, except for the large gash by his side, almost spanning the width of his torso. The wound, however, where the skin was torn to bits, and Emil almost feared seeing bone — the bleeding was stopped, or rather, _slowed down_. Emil didn’t know much about what spells mages had, but as Lalli tiredly cracked his eyes open at Emil, and refused to stop singing, Emil hoped then that Lalli still had the energy to keep on doing so. 

“Don’t worry, Lalli, I’m here,” Emil reassured him as he picked Lalli up gently into his arms, carrying him a few feet away from the spot on the ground until Sigrun finally caught up to them. Emil’s uniform was all protective gear, so he couldn’t tear off a piece of clothing. Luckily, Sigrun had brought along some extra cloth, and she handed it to Lalli, who immediately applied pressure. 

Then Sigrun pulled Lalli away gently from Emil’s arms, and he let her carry him reluctantly. She said, “I’ll carry him while you lead the way, now move!” Emil did so, knowing that Sigrun was stronger than he was, and that he knew the path better. It was now a race back against time, as they travelled through the path again. Emil had Lalli’s rifle at the ready for any troll that came their way, and the only thing that filled his thoughts was Lalli’s labored singing. He hoped it never stopped. 

Several times along the trip, Lalli had almost fallen silent, and the wound would begin to pour blood — Lalli’s eyes not even blinking open. Each time it happened, they ran even faster and became more frantic. Emil prayed aloud that Lalli wouldn’t stop singing, and every time his mumbled chants renewed, hope would grow once more, and it only begged for Emil to go faster. 

It seemed long — _too long_ — until the new cat tank finally came into view. The moment they saw it, all the energy they had left came out in a full out sprint, though they were careful not to jostle Lalli. Emil’s heart was ready to fall out from his chest, his feet almost numb yet electric. His nerves were buzzing, and the world seemed light and weightless, but in there — in his heart — bloomed a bit more hope. As Mikkel threw open the metal door, already ready to take Lalli under his care, Emil almost sobbed in relief. Almost to the point that he could kiss the big oaf. 

“Please, help him,” Emil pleaded as he finally got to Mikkel, and as Lalli was passed into the Dane’s arms, still singing, Mikkel nodded. 

“I will,” he said it like a promise, and Emil held him to that one, because as he followed him in order to help with what little he could, he watched as Tuuri frantically cleared out space for Lalli, and watched as Mikkel did his job. Watched as Reynir helped draw runes to numb the pain and put Lalli to sleep — watched as the world fell silent in their tank, filled with only their breathing. The world finally came crashing down, when Tuuri gripped his shoulder to snap him out of his silent trance. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, after embracing him in gratitude for saving her cousin, _and that was it_ . The confirmation that everything was fine — that they were out of the woods, and the worse was behind them. That all their efforts paid off, that the world had not been thrown into a disarray, and that Lalli was alive. _Living_ . Still breathing to call him stupid another day, to mock him in his Finnish garble, and to speak his horrendous Swedish. He was alive to keep on talking to him, to keep on just _existing_. 

That all of this wasn’t just a _dream_. 

When Emil looked down at the blood on his uniform for a moment, and he was naked under the cloudless sky, he felt something silently shift and get locked into place within him. He washed his clothes and watched as the blood slipped away from his hands, to join the earth on the ground, and disappear out of sight. 

He sighed, and let the tears of relief finally fall.

* * *

  
  


He was not sure what time of day it was when he woke— but when he opened his eyes, and saw the ceiling of the cat tank, and the bunk beds bracketing his sight, he allowed himself a small moment of thoughtlessness. The air in his lungs felt both too light and too heavy, and his body felt almost sore with fatigue. Every scent that lingered in the air came back to him, and if he listened closely enough, the songs of the spirits — beneath the earth, to the forest, and up to the sky — filtered into his head naturally, assuring him that he was alive. 

He blinked as he willed his senses to come back, and when he moved his left hand, his fingers brushed soft hair. He looked down, and saw Emil’s golden strands of hair, splayed out against the edge of the bed, flaring out like the rays of a sun. The back of Emil’s head was almost knocking against Lalli’s knee, and as Lalli leant over the bed, peering into Emil’s sleeping face, he could feel memories resurface, like dust in the bottom of a pond, rising unbidden. He could feel his heart clench, when he remembered what he had done. That he had _kissed_ Emil. 

Of course, it happened in a dream — all filled with sensations rather than physical tangibility. But, now that he was here, fingers splayed on a hard mattress, knees almost knocking against the stupid Swede’s head — reality almost unbelievable with the near brush with death — he wanted to know what it _really_ felt like. Lalli wanted to taste reality, compared to the mist of his dreams. Wanted to touch the sun, feel moonshine, taste the heat, Emil’s sweetness, _his breath_ — all over again. 

Lalli tried to fully get up, hands reaching out to Emil, but then his side twinged — _and horrible, brilliant fire, raw on his skin, sour on his tongue_ — fuck. He hissed between his teeth, and his eyes watered, lungs heaving for air to breathe. Then warm familiar hands gripped his forearms, anchoring him down and when Lalli looked up — he could somehow breathe a bit better, and feel the pain ebb into a dull ache. Emil pushed him back down on the bed, with a muttered, “You shouldn’t get up. You should _rest_.” 

Lalli didn’t say anything to that, because he _did_ need it, but when he found that the silence between them continued on as Emil assumed his previous position, he grew uncomfortable. He expected Emil to fire off questions, express his concerns, ask if he was alright, maybe even _get angry_. However, Emil refused to look straight at him and Lalli’s heart throbbed painfully, more so than his injured side. Was there something wrong? Did Emil not care, like he had thought he would? Or maybe, Emil didn’t return his feelings?

Lalli’s stomach churned, and the feeling was so uncomfortable, he almost wanted to lash out. But Lalli bit back his tongue, and instead reached for Emil’s shoulder, saying, “Emil…” 

And then Emil looked at him, eyes furrowed almost sadly, and if Lalli thought he had been breathing properly, then _no_ . He was sinking, and sinking, and sinking — _drowning somewhere deeper than the blue of the sky_.

“Lalli, you meant it, right?” Emil asked him, soft but firm, as he gripped onto Lalli’s hand on his shoulder. “You meant the hug...the-the _kiss_.” Emil squeezed Lalli’s hand and the horrible feeling of sinking disappeared, replaced by hope that bloomed slowly in Lalli’s chest — tentative and patient. 

He cursed his dry throat, though, when what came out was a raspy, “Yes…”

Emil licked his lips before he spoke, and Lalli had glanced at the action, before he heard Emil continue. “Then, you have feelings —”

“I do,” Lalli blurted out, and the pressure that was on his chest — ever since the near end of the first expedition — ever since their dreamscapes melded into an endless sky, a pond of clarity, born from a moment of stillness — _out of the infinite possibilities of the universe_ — ever since they each became the other’s haven. It lifted, like a slab of stone, releasing pressure from a place weighed down by words and bedrock. He felt untethered from the earth and its pull. Felt weightless, that if he could, his soul would drift into the sun. 

_That he would burn, and he would love it_.

Emil paused, a certain hitch in his breath as he searched for _something_ , before he fully faced Lalli. He said resolutely, “Then please, _don’t_ do that _again_.” 

For a horrible moment, Lalli’s heartbeat paused, fearing that Emil didn’t want to kiss him ever again. _Didn’t want him at all_. 

“You don’t want me.” Lalli made a motion to hide and curl into himself, but Emil inserted his hand into the slot of Lalli’s fingers, and he pulled himself into Lalli’s space, engulfing what else Lalli could see in the tank. No bunk beds, ceilings, just Emil. _Only Emil_. 

Lalli was reluctant to meet Emil’s eyes, but Emil eased his fears by leaning in, and he didn’t expect the press of Emil’s lips against his — _but it was there_ — better than any dream he could conjure, and far more tangible than the very earth he walked on. Emil’s lips were soft, and they were plump against his, and Lalli responded by melting into them. 

When Emil pulled back, it was to declare, “I _do_ . I _do_ want you, and I _do_ like you.” Lalli wiped a tear that escaped Emil’s eye, and he drew his brows together in question at his tears. Emil huffed and embraced Lalli, and if Lalli thought they fit perfectly like stone slabs in dreams, they were the fibers of a basket in reality, interwoven in order to fill, carry, _receive_ this tenderness that neither could part from. Interwoven so delicately, that Lalli feared if one thing came undone, all this warmth would spill out. 

Emil kissed his temple in their embrace, and said, “Just don’t kiss me when you’re _about to die_ , Lalli.” Lalli felt guilt churn in his stomach at that, and he was about to speak his apology, but Emil pressed their lips back together and he stole Lalli’s breath away again, instead of Lalli stealing his. 

“Don’t apologize. You can just kiss me whenever you want.” Emil said with no amount of grace as he pulled back from Lalli, after landing one last peck on his lips. 

Lalli blinked before he smirked deviously up at Emil, and whispered, “I can’t make out with you in front of the others, Emil.”

He enjoyed the red softness that bloomed on Emil’s cheeks, reaching to the tips of his ears. Lalli brushed away the hair from Emil’s forehead to see more of that blush, and bit back his grin with a bite of his lip as Emil slowed down in his spluttering, leaning into Lalli’s palm. “ _So easy to fluster_ …” Lalli muttered, closing his eyes briefly to just _feel_ — exist adrift in this reality, and gauge whether this was a dream. If the kisses before them were real, and if death had really just been _that_ close, a few hours ago. 

“So you _really_ like me back?” Lalli asked quietly for finality, opening his eyes. Emil paused in surprise, before snorting, pretty eyes framed by long lashes glancing away, as he grinned in a way that made him look boisterous. 

“Of course,” Emil answered, looking back down at Lalli with red cheeks. “I do. You can ask me how many times, and I don’t think I could ever say no.” 

_Real. This was real._

Lalli pulled him back down for more than one kiss, and more than one breath to steal. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“D-did I just hear that right?” Reynir paused before the door, cracked only a _smidge_ open, enough for sound to filter into and out of the bunkroom. Besides Tuuri who was the one who could fully speak Finnish, Emil became _decently_ good at understanding and speaking Finnish with Lalli. Reynir, unfortunately, had not been good at Finnish (and he did not have the _enthusiasm_ which Emil had in learning it), so it was easy to misunderstand a few things. 

“Hear what right?” Mikkel asked quietly from behind him, and Reynir almost jumped, the slop of food in his hands meant for Emil almost spilling. He swore to dear Freya, he didn’t know how a giant such as Mikkel could make _no sound_ whatsoever. 

“Didn’t I tell you to feed Emil and leave them to rest?” Mikkel raised a brow and Reynir scratched the side of his neck. 

“Yeah, well, i think Lalli just proposed to Emil,” he answered, and out of all the things to come out of Reynir’s mouth, like perhaps: _Emil and Lalli are sleeping, cuddling,_ or even _, making out_ (because Mikkel wasn’t oblivious to two people attracted to each other and he wouldn’t really put it past the two), _proposing_ was the last thing on his mind. For a moment, neither said anything.

“ _Proposal?_ ” Mikkel asked finally, after Reynir squirmed underneath his gaze, “as in marriage? You overheard Lalli _proposing_ to Emil?”

Reynir pulled an uncertain face, saying, “Yes? I heard Emil say _I do_ — that if Lalli asked him again, he’d _never_ say no, and wouldn’t that be...something you’d say? To a proposal?” 

Once again, Mikkel found himself questioning how they even got an approval to go on this expedition, let alone _another_ . He lamented the fact that he possessed the probably _only_ functioning brain within the tank. But then, he nodded at Reynir. 

“Yes, I believe you are right,” Mikkel humored Reynir sarcastically, face impassive. “That is what one would say _only_ to a proposal.” 

Either Emil was right that Mikkel’s mumble hardly made him understandable, or that Reynir had extra wool from his sheep stuffed into his ears accidentally. Mikkel really didn’t know, but when Reynir smiled and nodded enthusiastically, passing off the bowl to him so that Reynir could go tell Sigrun and Tuuri the news, Mikkel found that he’d just enjoy the mindless idiocy of his crew, and agonize over his regrets later down the line for if ( _or when_ ) it came back to bite him in the ass.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have any thoughts or comments, please, leave some!!! i'd love to know what you think!!!!!
> 
> <33333


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